Wizard's Chess
by Zek Majiri
Summary: Caught in the manipulative games of the Dark Lord and Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry and Draco fight to find their place in the thick of things.
1. Summer Vacation and How Everything Began

Author's note: Sorry that this has been up and down so many times but this is the final product of all of that wavering. It is much better then the first. Thanks to my beta Cassie and to Kat for helping me. So. enjoy. And please review!  
  
Warning: Slash in later chapters. If it makes you uncomfortable please do not read this or stop when the slash starts. I'll leave another note. If you ignore this, it is not my fault.  
  
Disclaimer: The only things that do not belong to JK Rowling are some of the plot and the character of Gafeth so far. Everything else is her genius. Please don't sue me.  
  
Wizard's Chess  
  
Chapter 1: Summer Vacation and How Everything Began  
  
Storms were raging outside of the house, number four on Privet Drive. Inspect closer and inside the house sitting in one of the darkened windows was a child staring aimlessly at the downpour, despite the late hour. The rain was trickling down the glass making tiny thuds when it landed on the awning beneath. Two arms were leaning on the windowpane, dressed in well worn blue striped pajamas. The face sitting on the arms was somber, framed in unruly raven hued hair, and the bottle green eyes that were peering dazedly through round glasses were dulled, lacking their natural gleam. He was dozing off slowly, face disappearing further into his arms with each breath, until a feathery white creature landed beside him and hooted softly. He awoke, jerking up abruptly, scanning the room with suspicion. There was an exhalation of air followed by a brief, annoyed word aimed warningly at the bird. An apologetic hoot followed, with more wing flapping and Hedwig, having completed her job, returned to her perch in the dark rafters. The flare of anger in Harry was quickly abated though, and shock soon took its place. He'd slept. Nightmares had plagued his nights for the past few months and were invading the daylight hours as well. Harry, trying to avoid the horrors displayed repeatedly in his overworked mind, had forced himself to a state of insomnia. Over and over, of all the venomous wraiths his brain clung to, from the revival ritual of the Dark Lord to the appearance of the shadows of his long deceased parents, it was the clean death of Cedric that wavered through his slumber most often. The half decayed hand outstretched, bones showing clearly through the taut skin performing the nauseatingly simple wand action, and the two words, avada kadavra. Amazing how just two words, seeming so innocent, could pluck the life out of your body, leaving the corpse whole and completely unscathed. He shuddered at the thought, at the memory, of that perfect murder. Better to think about something else while he had the option, anything. Think . Ron. Yes, Ron, and Hermione . standing on the front stairs of Hogwarts . waving to Hagrid . the temperature dropping . a flash of green light, and then a lone laugh of insanity penetrates the fresh scene of destruction .  
  
Harry jerked his head, dark hair going everywhere and shuddered. There was no reprieve from the demons blurring on the edges of the outside of his vision. He covered his face with a damp palm as the other felt around instinctively for his pillow, the fingers searching the aging bedspread, brushing over the fraying edges where it had worn through. His hand was rewarded and he pulled the soft mass up to his chest and hugged both his arms around it. It was a place to bury his face for a while, when the tears he had been penning up threatened to erupt from his eyes, forcing chocked sobs out of an already weakened boy. The crash of electricity meeting electricity sounded again shining its sharp light on Harry as the first drop of salty water landed on his pillow.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Not too far away another boy was gazing thoughtfully into the pelting rain. Pale faced with waist length white hair and eyes dark green like the Forbidden Forest, he sat quietly in the back seat of a gray car wondering what his life was going to be like when the driver left him off.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Malfoy Manor was quiet despite the thunder roaring from the blue-black skies. Lucius and Narcissa were in their bedroom, Lucius sitting in front of a deep green desk writing fervently, Narcissa resting on a downy sofa situated in front of the only light source in the room, the fireplace. The light of the flames tinted everything an amiable shade of orange, transforming the area from unwelcoming to downright cozy. There was no noise made from the inside but the scribbling of a quill and the flip of pages from Narcissa reading a small leather-bound book. Their son Draco was sitting in his room trying on new robes bought from his earlier shopping excursion with his parents. They were a pale grey-blue, the exact color of his eyes. He smiled as he peered at his reflection. Striking, but he had expected nothing less, he was a Malfoy, and that meant one had to look their best no matter what the circumstance. He turned to the house elf that was cowering in a corner by his bed. "What do you think?" Draco spat.  
  
"M-master is looking l-lovely as a-always," squeaked the terrified elf, wincing as though anticipating a blow. He stared at his servant, who had her small hands covering her head, large ears pressed against her skull. Merlin, she looks pathetic, he thought, annoyed at the open display of cowardice.  
  
"Get up," he ordered her, "now. You are embarrassing." He glowered at the lump on the cringing on the carpet. Disgusting. "I expect you can find a suitable punishment for this, yes?" the mass nodded quickly. "Good, and see that it does not happen again." He snarled before turning and storming over to his dresser where he began changing into his pajamas. On went a silvery silk nightshirt with forbidding black and green snakes around the cuffs, and matching pants, then hoping to send his serving elf off, he folded his dress robes neatly into a drawer.  
  
"Y-yes sir. Tirry does only as master wishes," whispered the elf to Draco's back, before disappearing toward the kitchen, legs unstable.  
  
Later on when evening had finally faded to pure night, the youngest Malfoy was sitting on the velvety edge of his circular window, illuminated only by the briefest of yellow flashes through the glass. The sky still seemed to be falling in sheets, pounding down on anything foolish enough to remain out in the elements. The harsh wind was tossing the braches of the willow trees in the garden around like they were paper ribbons. Smaller residents of the plot had drowned days ago, including Draco's favorite roses, which had been dark red, almost black, and thick with long briars. Heavy clouds made the humidity unbearable, despite the comfort enchantments on every room.  
  
He brushed away a few strands of hair that were clinging to his moist forehead. What time is it, late most likely, he thought, but one look at his canopied bed demolished any notions he had of sleeping. It would be hotter and, if possible, more disgusting lying amongst the pillows that were there. Looks like I'll be spending the night here again. He leaned back, putting his weight onto the cool silk of an emerald square of padding, the nape of his neck appreciating its slight chill. Drowsiness was winning the battle with his wits when there was the crack of someone apparating nearby.  
  
Before he could get him self off of the windowpane a bony clawed hand covered his mouth. "Where is your father?" whispered a foul hiss into his ear. He processed the owner of the voice and his body stiffened. The Dark Lord. And he sounded exceptionally displeased. Every word he had spoken was laced with poison in a manner that no man should ever have cause to hear. Draco swallowed loudly, and took in a deep breath. In the lord's presence there was no place for fear.  
  
"I-in his room my lord," the small blond child answered with as much stability as he could muster in an attempt to keep up his well tended dignity,  
  
"Honest. Good thing boy, staying honest with your master makes your life expectancy much longer. A lesson your dear father has apparently not learned yet." He bared his yellowed teeth in a travesty of a human smile.  
  
What was he talking about? His father, Lucius Malfoy, was unreachable, and a model Death Eater. He did not worry about his orders, just followed through with them with a terrifying precision. But Draco had been taught better then to ask questions. There was no reason to be frightened, he told himself. Due to father, your entire family is under his protection, He Who Must Not Be Named won't harm you. He just needs to see father and perhaps mother too, probably about something of great importance for him to have come in person and here you are standing here like a prat, wasting time. He turned, bowing, to his master, and asked, "May I escort you my lord?"  
  
The red eyes glinted in perverse humor at the youngest Malfoy. How quick were the young to give their trust, and how enjoyable it was to break it. He leered, playing along with the boy's charade, "You may have the pleasure. Let us go." He stood a little straighter with the Black Lord's acceptance, how quaint. I wonder how proud he'll be after I've . spoken . with his father.  
  
Draco led them through the dark corridors to the large brass double doors that led to his parents' suite. He knocked, "Father, mother, master is here to see you." The snake faced man let pass another sadistic grin as the doors flew open. Lucius stood aghast in the doorway. He walked calmly over to Draco and held his son at arms length by his shoulders and shook him violently. Then Lucius looked straight into Draco's eyes.  
  
"Are you not right, boy?" shot a disgusted question from his father. It confused Draco, what had he done now? He looked around nervously and spotted his mother hovering near the doorframe, horror radiating in her downcast eyes and Draco had a horrible feeling in the bottom of his stomach.  
  
"I don't know sir." He suddenly found the stone floor very interesting as he let his brain catch up with circumstances; his father had inquired about his wellbeing, marking that something was amiss. He shook his head and things began to register, making him ill, humiliating tears of emotions burning at the corners of his eyes. Despite his façade, Draco had been kept oblivious to most of the inner workings of his family's affairs. He had been forcibly trained not to question his seniors, and that was ripping them apart. Lucius could see this realization in his son's expression when Draco looked up, far too late to be of any help.  
  
"Come Lucius, how long did you think you could hide from the one who knows all? Your traitorous actions did not pass unnoticed." Lucius rose to his feet, and roughly shoved a disbelieving Draco towards his mother.  
  
"I knew the risks when I took the job," he shrugged, startlingly calm.  
  
"Proud words spoken from a dead man."  
  
Lucius met Voldemort's eyes, "Really? It seems that I'm still breathing."  
  
"Ah I grow weary of your obstinacy, Malfoy. I think it is time I ended this little chat." The blood tinged eyes shone in the dark hall as Voldemort drew his wand. He leisurely raised its point toward Lucius and with a fanged vulgarity of a laugh he said "avada kadavra." There was a green flash and Lucius who had been smirking to the last, fell to the ground in a heap.  
  
"Will you still pledge your loyalty young Malfoy?" said Voldemort as his wicked laughter resonated the house, echoing down through every empty hall. "Will you still escort your lord?" His mocking filled Draco's chest with the most burning of loathing. Had it not been for his mother, broken, salty tears running down her elegant face, he would have rushed at Voldemort in a barrage of feet and fists, forget wandwork. Instead Draco avoided him with tending to his mother. He wasn't sure how to handle her so he simply stroked her hair and spoke quiet words to her slouching frame. "I think I have made my point indisputably clear. You may live by my grace now, for I have plans that will make you wish you, like poor Mr. Malfoy, had not lived through tonight." His tone was casual, mocking everything that he had brought to ruin. "And, as a good visitor I will see myself to the door," then with another crack, he was gone, leaving the empty remains of what had once been a family.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The summer passed slowly for Harry. It was monotonous, never-ending days blending together to the point of no distinction. Days and nights were spent by himself, the Dursley's choosing to ignore him, and Ron and Hermione somewhere that they couldn't tell him, doing things they couldn't write down, in case the owls should be intercepted. It was frustrating, the words of encouragement from his best friends and the tantalizing hints of what was happening. Both the lack of contact from the wizarding world, and the lack of sleep were grating on him. He spent his days wandering the neighborhood, picking up papers from the trash, looking for something, anything to give him an idea as to what Voldemort was doing. He was regretting his choice to cancel the Daily Prophet, but after the first few articles that described himself as an attention desperate wannabe hero, and Dumbledore as a senile old fool he decided it wasn't worth the occasional tidbits of truth buried so deep it took a few times through to get anything out of it at all.  
  
After about ten minutes of sitting in the living room in an awkward silence as the news played on the television, Harry decided to go outside. He wasn't sure what was worse, being ordered around by his aunt and uncle or being completely ignored by them. They never spoke to him, or said anything about him; it was as if he didn't exist. They didn't set him out meals, nor did they complain if he got his own. No one came into his room, and he had had to learn to do his own laundry. While the reprieve from the constant insults was nice, the current situation was uncanny. Only a few weeks left he told himself as his feet automatically took him to his favorite places.  
  
He came to a more observant state an hour later around dusk, when he, sitting on a swing at the park, heard his cousin Dudley and his friends making a ruckus on the other side of the playground. They were discussing loudly their recent bout of troublemaking, including beating up a group of littler kids early that day. Harry, who wasn't quite in his right mindset, began to hope the blond pig would notice him and try to use him as a punching bag. He thought about how nice it would be to vent all of his fury at being left in the muggle world, alone, on the person who had once been the bane of his existence. Look over here stupid. I'm right here; all by myself . He reached into the pocket of his shorts and felt for his wand. He hadn't left it off of his person since school let out. He was running through the list of hexes he'd use on Dudley when he heard Piers Polkiss saying bye to Dudley, "By Big D. See ya tomorrow!" The phrase was repeated a few more times from Dudder's other gang buddies as he started towards Privet Drive. Harry swore to himself. It meant he'd have to go too. It didn't matter when Dudley came home, that was fine with his aunt and uncle but anytime after was far too late. He ran to catch up with Dudley.  
  
"Hey Big D." Dudley turned around then frowned.  
  
"Oh its you."  
  
"How long have you been Big D then?" Harry chuckled .  
"Its really none of your business but if you must know it's a nickname, you know something your friends call you . but wait you wouldn't know you don't have any friends even at that weirdo school ." he trailed off because at that point Harry had pulled out his wand. "You aren't allowed that in public."  
  
"How do you know the rules haven't changed?" Harry grinned wickedly.  
  
"T-they haven't." Dudley didn't sound too sure.  
  
It was at that point, Harry remembered, that the dementors attacked. Now I'm at Sirius' with Ron and Hermione, not sure if I'll be going back to school or not, but at least I finally know what has been going on all summer. And I don't like it. How does the Ministry intend to cover up what happened at the Malfoys?  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You want me to what?" came a horrified screech from Draco. His mother was sitting opposite him from behind a heavy wooden desk in a small library, explaining patiently what had been decided was the best course of action for her son. She and Dumbledore, currently her only contact outside of the many angry Death Eaters, had agreed that nothing was to change with him. He was to act like a full supporter of Voldemort in front of his peers, if questioned to say coldly that his father had acted foolishly and had gotten what he deserved for it, and for all she knew about her son he might well believe just that. This was solely for his safety, but Narcissa had an idea that after the disastrous results of their last attempt to keep him safe, she might have more then a few problems getting her furious and distraught son to see reason.  
  
Yes, after a brief questioning, Draco had heard the entire story from his mother a few days later; of how his father decided it was most profitable to play both sides of the fight between Hogwart's headmaster and the Dark Lord. It had been explained how he, the youngest Malfoy was kept in the dark so that he couldn't say or do anything that would puncture the carefully built wall around his father's deception. It was also supposedly to allow him a normal childhood, able to go to school without being afraid for the welfare of everyone at home. Draco understood the logic, although it didn't mean he liked it. He wondered if his parents realized what they had actually done.  
  
His cheeks flushed in anger as he thought about it. I acted as I thought would please them, proving myself respectable. Most of my attitude and way of thinking was based off their forgeries. Why couldn't they have just told me to begin with? If they had I wouldn't . the painful thought forced blood into his cheeks, reddening them, which served to incite him further ... If they had told me I wouldn't have led father to his death. There was no use denying that that was exactly what he had done despite Narcissa's attempts to convince him otherwise. She had told him "Draco I'm glad you're here. It wouldn't due to have no gentleman in the house. Your father . " at that point some inanimate object tended to become fascinating until she regained her Malfoy composure.  
  
She amazed Draco with her ability to keep things up. After that first night she hadn't cried, she simply continued her business, which was as remote to Draco as ever. In fact very little about her had changed. Home was as identical as it could be without Mr. Malfoy, with the simple adjustments that his parents' old room had been locked up, and Mrs. Malfoy had taken up residence in one of the guest bedrooms, this one significantly closer to her son's then the previous one.  
  
At least, thought the blond boy as he fiddled with the tassels on the cushion next to him, it hadn't been an obvious deception. There had been nothing to suggest that what he had believed wasn't the truth. He had gone through everything time after time in his head during the long nights he spent staring at the top of his bed, and in the end had come to accept that at least his failure to see through the lies was more then simple inattention. Narcissa's annoyed, slightly pleading voice cut through his brooding.  
  
"Draco will you listen to reason? You have to go back out in public someday and if you think you hate this idea you're going to injure me when I tell you the next one."  
  
"There isn't anything that can make this much worse," was the sulky, angered reply, along with a further slouch in his posture.  
  
"Sit up would you? I am not going to let all of those years of teaching you to be a proper gentleman fall to pieces because of some personal problems. The name Malfoy still commands respect."  
  
Reflexively he sat straighter and glared, "That's news to me."  
  
"Do you think that one man's folly means you change from the wealthiest pureblood family in Britain to the Weasleys? Are you so willing to toss aside your wand and join the mudbloods and muggle lovers?" she growled.  
  
Her word resonated though him, embarrassing him further yet again, and a familiar look took over his features for the first time in days. "What an absurd idea, seeing as I am the only male Malfoy currently residing here. What would the rest of the family say?"  
  
She retained her no nonsense look and narrowed her eyes but inside she was relieved that she wouldn't need to figure out how to smooth over her angered fifteen year old. It gave her more freedom as she continued, "They would be mortified of course, but on to business, I have found a safe place for you to stay until the school year begins."  
  
"Where?" that suspicious look was now mingled with his schooled arrogant expression.  
  
"Our cousin Sirius Black has agreed to let you stay with him. Don't you give me that look," she reprehended in response to his look of protest. "He is respectable enough despite the rumors." Knowing your version of respectable, that isn't convincing interjected Draco's mind, causing him to frown with disapproval. Unnoticing she kept speaking "I'm not sending you to someplace dangerous; that would completely defeat the purpose. His house is also the headquarters of the Order, although I doubt with your act many people will be willing to tell you much about it. I don't think you'll be welcome, so anticipate the tension."  
  
"I understand," said Draco. Maybe the time away from here will let me get myself back together before the term begins. And if everyone there hates me I'll go sit in the library. The Order will stay away from those books, I know that the Blacks were proper purebloods. And who knows what I'll find there. In fact . "Will Tirry be going with me?"  
  
"Yes, oh yes. Sirius said the only one of the whole serving group of servants left is a crazed old house elf, Kreacher. I can't leave you without your servant, and she is of no use to me here. I advise keeping her away from Kreacher though."  
  
. I may not even need to look at all. "I'll see to her. When do I leave?"  
  
Narcissa eyed her son with suspicion at his compliance. She spoke a tiny bit slower, observing him. "Tomorrow morning, so go start packing. I believe Tirry is already in there." Unconsciously Draco ran his hand through his hair, his ego at least partially rebuilt. He called back as he sauntered gracefully out into the torch lit hall.  
  
"Goodnight mother."  
  
Curious, she thought, he'll need watching. She exhaled slowly and answered dimly, "Goodnight Draco." 


	2. Diagon Alley and An Unpleasant Surprise

Disclaimer: The only things that do not belong to JK Rowling are some of the plot and the character of Gafeth so far. Everything else is her genius. Please don't sue me.  
  
Wizard's Chess  
  
Chapter 2: Diagon Alley and an Unpleasant Surprise  
  
Harry plowed up another filthy stairway in the House of Black; one he hadn't known existed till today, looking for his godfather. There was only one door at the top of this landing and he severely wished that this was the one Sirius was behind. He'd been traipsing the house, wand in hand, since Sirius had disappeared early that morning during breakfast claiming the need to make another room inhabitable. Either Sirius wanted to be alone, which had been for most of the day, or he was expecting a new resident. In any case Harry wanted to know what was going on. Standing behind the doorframe he listened for any noise coming from the room, and was catching his breath. There was a pleasant humming particular of Sirius and Harry carefully opened the door a bit so as not to startle his godfather, or whatever might be in the unexplored room with him.  
  
"Sirius? You in here?" said Harry softly from the other side of the small opening.  
  
"Come in Harry. There's nothing in here that you need to worry about."  
  
"Including you?" came the tentative reply.  
  
"Including me. I told you all I was doing was cleaning." Harry finished opening the door and strode in. It must be a new tenant he decided, the bedroom painfully familiar despite the dim light. The carpet was a lush green, the comforter was emerald with a silver patterned trim, and the dark headboard had delicate snakes etched into it. He had seen something like it only once, the time he and Ron had snuck into Slytherin tower using the Polyjuice Potion.  
  
Harry cleared his throat as Sirius magicked the last shady drape up on the rail surrounding the bed. When he had Sirius' attention Harry inquired as innocently as he could, "Who are you bringing here Sirius?"  
  
"A relation of mine who I believe the group of you kids are acquainted with," he answered uneasily.  
  
"Is he a blond with an unbearable attitude?" spouted the stark reply, Harry remembering the lineage curtain downstairs and the gold line of thread that connected Narcissa Malfoy to the rest of the Black family.  
  
"I was afraid you were going to see it that way. Harry I know you to don't get along..."  
  
"To put it in nicest terms" interrupted Harry, glowering.  
  
"But he's had a bit of a nasty summer, and although I can't tell Hermione and Ron what to do, I can tell you that I expect you to attempt to be civil with him."  
  
"I will if he does."  
  
"Harry" came Sirius in a warning tone. "I'm not kidding. I don't want to catch you making anything harder on him then it is." He sighed, "I doubt you'll see much of him at any rate, Narcissa said he's been quite withdrawn lately, choosing to spend most of his time alone."  
  
"Sirius I know he's had a hell of a time the past two weeks but it doesn't excuse the fact that he is, and always has been an insufferable git. And speaking of summers, he isn't the only one whose vacation hasn't been a bed of roses. You persuade him to be humane, or at least not insulting around me and I'll return him the favor, but I am not going to let him trample me because of some need to prove himself the pure blooded wonder child," fumed Harry, miffed at his godfather's obvious siding with Malfoy. His angry, jealous thoughts raced further as Sirius plopped himself on the newly made up bedcover. Who was Malfoy to be coming here anyway? He didn't belong there, he had no right to be there, and surely no one wanted him there, so why couldn't his perfect pasty little pureblood self stay locked up in his huge, fashionable estate where he was waited on hand and foot, by some poor abused house elf. "Ugck" he grunted in disgust.  
  
A few minutes passed before Sirius pressed the subject again, hoping to curb Harry's temper, at least a little. Then he said softly "You know I can't force you to anything ... "  
  
"Give the man a prize" he retorted sarcastically.  
  
"... But I want you to know that if you don't even try to put forth an effort, I, as your parent, will be sorely disappointed with you." With that he stood up and swept out beyond the door and down the steps without another word.  
  
Great, thought Harry, I hate Malfoy; it's his fault Sirius is upset with me. He'd better not start anything while he's here or I'll use the worst hex I can think of on him without a second thought. He flopped backwards on the squishy Slytherin colored bed; at least it's only for a few more weeks, was his last feasible thought for a while as he contemplated the fabric above him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
A young man was looking around the Leaky Cauldron anxiously. So this was it, not much to it really, although he supposed that was to keep the muggles from becoming too interested. He'd been all over muggle London that day, looking at the sights like any good American tourist, his father telling him the real background of many of them, from a time when the magical community hadn't needed to be completely hidden from those who weren't magically gifted.  
  
He had sat through it all like a good son should; nodding in the appropriate places, laughing when it was expected, all the while his stomach was churning. It was an important day for him; he was going to meet his, hopefully, new headmaster. Transferring schools was unusual at best, and generally frowned upon due to the secrecy amongst the larger wizarding schools, and despite his odd circumstances, he was unsure of how his decision was going to be accepted. If it even was. He wrung his ashen hands uneasily as his mind rambled through his doubts. His father, dark in hair and eyes, but fair in complexion, was still chatting animatedly to some wizard, probably of notability, about their trip, thoroughly oblivious to their son's uncertainty and growing nausea. He was getting queasier as time passed, slowly, all the while musing about his upcoming encounter. He was just about to excuse himself to the restroom when his father spoke to his acquaintance about him. Looking up he swore silently and tried to smile.  
  
"This is my son, Gafeth. His hair makes him look a tad on the eccentric side, but he's a good boy, does agreeably in his studies, as well as being a competent quidditch player. He was a keeper with Viktor Krum, you know, at Durmstrang."  
  
"Is he of age then?" asked the shorter man in a green bowler cap appraising the boy beside him, with his waist length white hair pulled back in a braid, and dark green eyes. Gafeth flinched uncomfortably.  
  
"Oh no, he's to be fourteen in November, sir"  
  
"I see. So what brings you all the way to London? Durmstrang is a bit of a trek from here isn't it?"  
  
"From the United States, actually. We're here to see Albus Dumbledore about enrolling my boy. You heard about Igor Karkaroff, I'm sure, and I don't believe, after the disaster he caused at the Triwizard Tournament, that I want my son anywhere near the remains of anything he influenced." Or more correctly, was his unvoiced notion, Gafeth doesn't want to stay. Despite Karkaroff proving to be a traitor and a coward he wished he could have persuaded his distressingly abnormal son to stay at the finest Dark Arts School in North America and Europe.  
  
"Understandable," was the reply, the other gentleman's face darker after hearing Dumbledore's name. Gafeth's father seemed to notice, because he looked down at his gold wristwatch and exclaimed.  
  
"Oh my! Gafeth we've got to be going soon, your meeting is in an hour."  
  
Gafeth adjusted his cloak and stood up slower then he would normally have so that he wouldn't collapse. "Pleased to have met you sir." His voice cracked unimpressively as he offered the strange looking man his hand.  
  
"The pleasure is mine. Its always nice to see some new blood around." He turned to Gafeth's father, "And if you don't mind my asking I don't believe I caught your surname."  
  
That, he thought, is because I didn't give it. He resigned himself and said, "DeVai, sir, Robin DeVai."  
  
Recognition flitted across his face. "I won't forget it this time." There was a pause then, "I suppose I'd best be on my way as well. Good luck with your appointment." He stood and with a dip of his head, disapparated. Gafeth watched the now empty space for a moment, thinking. You know, if he keeps this up he's going to become accomplished at pretending that he likes me, and I like him. How ironic. It made him laugh emptily before he twirled, his lengthy braid spinning outward, toward his parent.  
  
"Which ridiculously important person were you getting in good with now?" he asked sarcastically, the pretense of friendliness put aside.  
  
"I'll have you know that was Cornelius Fudge, British Minister of Magic," he answered matching his son's tone, and sneering.  
  
"Oh, well, what do you make of him?"  
  
"Charismatic enough, I suppose. These British people seem to have lower standards about who they leave in charge of governing."  
  
"That's your expert opinion?" they strolled out of the back of the pub, and Gafeth was disappointed to see it was bare except for an old wall and a few garbage cans.  
  
His dad strode up to the barrier ignoring his offspring and muttering, "... he said three up, two across ... " as he counted the bricks. Finding the one he prodded it sharply with his wand, and for a minute they both thought nothing had happened. Then the wall began to part revealing an array of shops, and masses of witches and wizards walking and purchasing items. Beckoning his son through with a quick snap, Mr. DeVai continued answering Gafeth's question. "I don't like the look of him. He seems to have become fond of his position as Minister, although I doubt he's really doing much at all. He's not bright, but he wouldn't be doing so well without asking someone for advice."  
  
"I see." Gafeth thought it rather rich that his father had the nerve to judge anyone who was enjoying their little bit of power, when he, Robin DeVai was holding on greedily to the promises of further wealth and renown his master offered him. Not that he wasn't influential, one needs be fairly well known for wizards in a foreign country to know your family name, in fact, Gafeth would reckon his family was as well known as the Malfoys, and for many of the same dark reasons. Large contributions to the American Ministry, St. Mingo's Hospital in New York, and the International Unification of Wizarding Peoples Federation, just to name a few, had bought him and his family all they had wanted, as well as giving his father the Order of Merlin, Second Class. They were popular all right, and Gafeth should have been thankful. Instead he was quite tired of his parents' attempts to create a mini them out of him. He was not a social butterfly, despite his upbringing, and had no urge to increase his popularity, in fact, more and more often; he wished he could be left alone.  
  
Now was one of those times, but as the two of them wandered through Diagon Alley, he decided he had at least better know what they were looking for. "Father."  
  
"Yes?" It was more of a grunt between his father greeting associates he'd met through work.  
  
"What the bloody hell are we looking for?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco was staring, unimpressed, at the division between numbers ten and fourteen Grimmauld Place, dull in the morning light. He had been dropped off on the corner in a muggle vehicle, his belongings brought to his destination during the night. He felt past the wand in his khaki pocket to the small, folded piece of parchment that a owl had dropped on him moments before. It said number twelve Grimmauld Place alright. He looked up again and suddenly a large run down manor appeared from in between the others, seeming to push them both several feet in opposite directions. He glanced, jumpy, looking to see if anyone had noticed. Everything was still so he marched up the stone walkway to a large graying wood door. There was a paper on it that read, "Do not use the doorbell". Lovely, how am I supposed to get in? He reached up to knock and his fist met air as the door opened. A tall, stringy man leaned in the frame; pieces of chin length brown hair drooping in his pale face. He wore an ill fitting dirty robe with holes in both of the elbows and a tear that ran from collar to shoulder, the loose fabric flopping. At the sight of Draco his face split into a grin and he offered his hand to the boy. "Finally someone who has the sense to listen to the door. Come on in," he said leading Draco inside the musty hall, door closing silently behind them, "I'm Sirius."  
  
Draco stared at everything. It was indeed the house of Dark wizards, although it looked as though someone had been waging war against it. There were images of various places in the wizarding world on the walls; some Draco could name, like Gringotts, and The Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, but many more he'd never seen, right next to portraits of the place's previous occupants, witches and wizards in tall chairs sitting in front of cauldrons full of what looked like blood, eying him up as he walked past with nasty looks. He also took note of a long moth eaten curtain apparently covering something. He vowed to examine it closer when he had the chance. Sirius led him right past the curtains when a clatter came from a room nearby and the drapes to his left flew open. "Traitors! Mudbloods! Filth of the wizarding world in my house!" screamed a horrifying woman in the painting the curtains revealed. He took a step forward before Sirius put a firm hand on his shoulder and hollered over the painting.  
  
"Ignore her. Let's go." He started to turn Draco through a doorway to the right. The screaming abruptly stopped at Sirius' words. The woman glared at Sirius before turning to Draco, looking delighted to see him.  
  
"Let me see him better you idiot man. Lucius, is that you?" she snapped at them. Draco was bewildered, and he looked to his new guardian for help. "Ignore that fool," the image continued, "he doesn't know how to respect his family none the less how to greet a visitor. You aren't Lucius are you? No I see, what a pity. But you don't look like traitorous filth, indeed you remind me of my Narcissa, dear thing."  
  
"I'm her son, Draco. Draco Malfoy." He considered, this crazy lady knows mother and father. She beamed further.  
  
"I see my pitiful excuse for a son has finally had the decency to speak to someone civilized." His mother? He turned to Sirius who was seething against the far wall. Catching Draco's gaze he seized the opportunity to violently jerk the drapery closed, completely muffling his mother's howls of protest. Sirius turned to his new boarder and flashed a sheepish grin.  
  
"Now that you've met my dear mother lets get you something to eat then I'll show you to your room." He stalked into a bright room and beckoned Draco to follow. Draco strode into a kitchen full of people and was overwhelmed with loathing. Sitting around a giant cherry wood table talking animatedly was none other then Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and a handful of red haired Weasleys, along with a few adults among who, his old Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, and werewolf, Remus Lupin the only recognizable one. Oh no, Draco went, not staying here, not today. He stepped backwards back into the dim corridor as Sirius tried to grab him and lead him back. Their struggling turned into a brawl and when they knocked over a cluster of pots hanging on the wall it caused everyone in the room to gawk at them.  
  
"Get ... off ... of ... me. I'm leaving ... now!" grunted Draco furiously. He sent a kick in the direction of his retainer.  
  
"Not ... while ... you're in ... my ... care. Would ... " Draco's foot caught him in the stomach cutting him off, and causing his to release Draco's wrist. Draco bolted out the door and got about two feet before he was abruptly stopped by a male voice calling "Petrificus Totalus!" He lost control as the spell hit him his arms snapping to his sides and his legs springing together, and he hit the floor, rigid.  
  
"I got him Sirius! You alright in there?" called Lupin into the kitchen. Sirius shuffled out to where the two were, clutching his abdomen.  
  
"I'm fine. Is he alright?" he gestured to Draco with his free hand.  
  
"He's fine. It's just the full Body-Bind spell. " Malfoy's face burned as he lay motionless on the carpet. Mother, I'm going to murder you.  
  
"I had hoped it wasn't going to be like this. Lets levitate him to his room and I'll release him and send his elf up with his lunch." With a flick of his wand Sirius, Remus, and a frozen Malfoy started towards the stairs that would lead them to Malfoy's room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had peered out the door during the excitement and saw everything. Harry and Ron where having a hoot while Hermione stood disapproving, arms across her chest. When the two boys stopped to breathe she interjected "This isn't at all funny."  
  
Ron glared at her "You're right. The world's biggest moron just got bound and floated to his room like a misbehaving six year old. That's not funny, that's hilarious."  
  
Her manner sharpened "You know what I mean Ronald Weasley."  
  
His eyes narrowed and the back of his ears started to turn red, "No I don't believe I do Hermione. Why don't you spell it out for those of us who are more intellectually challenged then you are?"  
  
As the two of them started to yell at one another Harry put his chin on his knees and watched the two go at it from his vantage point on the floor. Crookshanks limbered over to him with his squashy face and rubbed Harry's legs. He was rewarded with a rub between his ears, making him purr loudly as he flopped down next to Harry. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and he processed the last half hour. Malfoy was here. Malfoy had attacked his godfather. Malfoy was probably being locked in his room for the next month. After today Harry wasn't likely to have to deal with Malfoy for the rest of the summer. Good thing too, or else he'd have to give Malfoy a swift kick to match the one he'd given Sirius. Crookshanks rolled over to have his stomach petted, and Harry continued to absentmindedly run his hand over the soft fur. His friends' volume had lowered to a reasonable decibel so Harry gave the two his full attention again. Hermione was motioning with her one hand, the other tucked under her arm still.  
  
"Ron I simply meant look at the trouble he caused in the first ten minutes. I think he ought to be locked away with no food or water and the key thrown away as much as the rest of you, but if that was just ten minutes ... well he's got another month here."  
  
"'Mione I don't think he's gonna be allowed out of his room for the remainder of vacation after that bit. Mums in a right state about having the prat here to begin with, and I heard her go up after Sirius. I bet she causes a ruckus."  
  
"That's exactly what I mean. He is such a nuisance even without his actual person being there. And we'll be dealing with this till September."  
  
Privately Harry agreed with Hermione but with the anxiety shooting around already he wasn't about to contradict Ron. Instead he got up to his feet, and brushing his jeans off announced "We really shouldn't worry about it until Malfoy decides how he's going to react to this. It'll probably be a mess, but we can't do anything till then. I'm going upstairs, coming?"  
  
Hermione looked grateful and Ron unconvinced, but the both of them followed Harry up to the room that he and Ron shared, trying to avoid Mrs. Weasley who would be wanting them for another round of housecleaning.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco was pacing his room, one two three left, around his four poster bed, and had been in intervals since he'd been brought up here. His blond hair was scuffed from his fight with his new guardian, and there was rug burn down his left arm from when he fell when the binding spell hit him. He stopped his continuous movement in favor of plopping to the floor in front of his trunk, where he shuffled around looking for parchment and quill to write home. A moment later he realized that most of his belongings had been unpacked already, making the room perfectly inhabitable, and taking one thing off of the list of things to waste time. The room was poorly lit, with no windows to the outside, probably for his further detainment. The furniture was similar to that of his dormitory at school, lots of Slytherin colors and snakes everywhere, comfortable, but he despised being locked in there. Sirius had told him that there would be other chances for him to be let out to roam with everyone else, but for now he thought it best to keep him on his own.  
  
Absolutely spiffing for him and the rest, but Draco was becoming bored and increasingly irritated. He had heard the door being locked from the other side and had figured that it could be undone with a spell. To his dismay he couldn't remember the incantation to the spell. He'd sat for an hour in front of the door trying different things. So far alamara, alomora, ahoma, and ahamara had produced no effect. Alavera had sent flames shooting from his wand tip, and ahomorah had produced a gust of wind that ricocheted and shattered a lamp.  
  
He was to the point where sitting in front of the door for another hour was sounding good so he walked over to the entrance, carefully contemplating his other options. He could destroy it, which would be useful until Sirius discovered it, and would probably have him thrown into some uncleaned, untouched room with Kreacher. No, it needed to be unlocked and in one piece, and hopefully by the time he got out, his schoolmates would be out of the kitchen because he was hungry. Which reminded him, where was his elf? Another thing to find out when he got downstairs. He stood facing the door, brandishing his wand and gave it another try "Alohomora!" There was no sound for a moment then 'click'. Draco quickly tried the knob and it swung open, leading him out into an unlit stairway. He closed the barricade to the room and relocked it. Let whoever came to check up here think he was either angry or asleep, then he ran off to do some searching. 


End file.
